Birth
by shattered petal
Summary: No longer is blue the colour of murder and war. It is of love and nicety. It is of humanity. -Post-Promised Day; Ishval Restoration


**Title**: Birth  
**Genres**: Friendship/Drama  
**Rating**: T

* * *

'They say a man's greatest strength is also his greatness weakness. Do you believe in that theory?'

Miles stops reading and looks at him. For the past couple of hours, the two have sat in complete silence, and now, suddenly, his companion has spoken. Lowering his gaze to the untouched paperwork, Miles wonders how long Roy has been staring off into the distance. He admits the view is gorgeous. The sun has already hid itself behind the hills of sand, and the clouds are filled with amazing colours: reds, oranges, yellows.

It is a miracle how such a vandalised country remains so beautiful. However, Miles doubts Roy is just enjoying the sight. The man has been thinking, thinking deep, hopefully not about anything troublesome. Looking at him again, Miles doesn't hold much hope. Roy does not appear content. Black rings hang under his eyes and he needs sleep.

'Yes,' Miles says. 'That is why I never reveal my true strength to the world.'

Roy inhales. Swallows. 'All along I thought your strength was patience and kindness. I guess I was wrong.'

'Well, my strength isn't _only_ that.'

Then Roy chuckles with him, grinning. It is a real, genuine smile and his eyes flash in the dim light. 'What is your greatest strength, Colonel?'

Even to his allies, Miles will never confess. Trust no one, and you shall survive. 'You've known me long enough to discover that.'

Roy says nothing. He raises his head and sighs, closing his eyes. 'Mine is obvious.'

It is, and it always shall be. Roy is a master of the flames, powerful and fierce. He is a man people look up to, but not inspire to become. What skill he possesses is only for a specific breed, a specific mind. Not even the most intelligent creature on earth could learn Flame Alchemy. People worship Mustang's ability, glorify it. They see him as some sort of angel.

Yes, society lives an illusion. Roy can only sneer. He is no angel. If the heavens and hells are true, then he knows where a crown has already been carved for him. Roy stands to his feet and walks forwards, mouth slightly agape.

'Beautiful,' he whispers. 'Beautiful.'

There is not a more supreme sight. Roy cannot avert his gaze. He greedily takes in every detail, every colour, every grain of sand. Shivering, despite the warmth, Roy holds himself, teeth jarred, repeats: "Beautiful". It destroys him that this was once a place he destroyed by his own fingertips. He once walked these sands, and murdered life before him.

_He can still smell burnt flesh_.

Roy has worked harder than most men. Every time he finishes a chore, he scrubs his hands, washes away the dirt, and he keeps scrubbing, scrubs so hard skin starts to peel. It is as if he is scrubbing away the blood, scrubbing hard, but he is never clean. A stain. A constant stain. Fresh.

'I'm not a hero, Tiberius.'

How much he loathes that title: hero. Hero of Ishval.

It makes him want to vomit.

'Hero has many definitions,' Miles replies calmly. He watches Roy steadily. 'To me, a hero is anyone who tries to make a positive difference. You are a hero.'

'No,' Roy shakes his head. 'No, I am merely cleaning up the mess I made.'

'You've been _told_ to believe that. I know why you are really here.'

'To repent my sins!'

'You're here because you _care_!' And he is on his feet, fists clenched, glaring at the man's turned back. 'You are aware of your mistakes, you are aware of what you have done. Many individuals aren't capable of realising this. _You_ have. What you're doing right now has saved the lives of thousands.' A shattering pause. 'Don't you dare claim to repent your sins when you do not believe in any God. A man possesses no sins if he doesn't fear punishment.'

Roy trembles. Anger rushes through him, but he is not angry at Miles. Never at Miles. That man has too much good in him to hate. He is angry at himself, at his blindness and naivety. His voice is quiet, gentle. 'You weren't there. You weren't a soldier.' Then he turns and looks at the Ishvalan, and he is broken. 'You didn't burn people alive. I'm a monster.'

'Everyone has a monster inside them.'

'Mine is the worst of them all!' Roy brushes a hand through his hair, breathing heavily. 'I killed more than I have saved, Tiberius. _More than I can ever save_. I am a murderer; I shall _always_ be a murderer. I can never take back what I did.'

'What about those who fought alongside you? Are you claiming Hawkeye to be a monster as well?'

'Neither of us are guiltless.'

'You expect me to let you go on living your life with that sort of behaviour?'

'Why can't I?'

'Because you can't _live_!'

For the first time Roy has witnessed a fury in Miles he has never seen before. It is not one of rage or spite. It is not one of impatience. It is of desperation. Miles doesn't beg, doesn't pity, but that doesn't mean he is not a desperate man. For years he has desired peace, a reconciliation, and now, finally, he is working beside a man who once destroyed his race.

Ever since the Restoration began, Miles has acted differently. He has a larger presence, he is more confident, and his true nature has began to show. Shades removed, everyone can now register his handsome and strong features. He isn't a little boy running away from men wearing blue. He is a man, now wearing the blue his enemies lived in, and creating a different image.

No longer is blue the colour of murder and war.

It is of love and nicety. It is of humanity.

Roy closes his eyes, curls his lips and struggles to remain silent.

'You aren't the only man here who has blood on his hands, Roy.'

They catch each other's gaze.

'I was a monster too before I joined the military. In fact, I was vile during my first few years at Briggs. All I wanted was to make Amestrians go through as much pain as I did. I wanted thousands of children to lose their families like I did. I desired revenge in the coldest sense. I _needed_ revenge. For years, I was running away with my mother, away from my _own race_ because I had a drop of Amestrian blood in me. Then the war happened, and I was alone, unsure whose side I was on.'

Roy presses a hand against his temple, closes his eyes again and listens.

'It was only when I discovered how brutal the war had become did I realise who I really supported here. We were outmatched, outnumbered. Our intelligence was not as brilliant as yours. You had the luxury of efficient education. Us? Our education was based solely around religion: how to worship, how to become a priest, how to become a respectable father in the eyes of our Goddess, Ishvala. Of course we didn't stand a chance.'

For a couple of seconds, Miles has to stop. It has been a while since he delved so far into the past. The only person who knows this much is Olivier. He can feel his heart pace quickening a little more, out of fear. Miles still fears. Fears the nightmares of so long ago.

'I fought against you with what pathetic artillery I possessed. I killed but, naturally, I wasn't that skilled with a gun. I was shot three times in the chest. It's a miracle I survived. If it weren't for the Rockbell doctors, I wouldn't be here.'

Roy remembers those saints.

'Being sent to Briggs was the most humiliating time of my life. Can you imagine, Roy? An Ishvalan, who hated Amestrians, was forced into an Amestrian army who destroyed his own race. I was bitter. I felt like I was a traitor. I was _forced_ to be one.' Miles trembles, 'It almost makes me angry thinking about it now, but I can't–– I _can't_ allow myself to succumb to my emotions. The only way for progress to happen is by taking that one step forward, even if there are hundreds of chains pulling you back.'

These are the words from a man who experienced terror. Roy can claim to have suffered worse, but this isn't a competition. There is no time for competition, and no time for a man who pities himself. It is not _easy_, though. Roy will not go to sleep tonight and be a new man the next morning. Miles speaks wisely, but he is far, far greater than Roy.

Miles steps towards the man. 'I can't sympathise, sir. I apologise.'

'No, I understand.' Roy understands, of course he does. 'I just... You spend day after day, working beside a man you have every right to kill. I murdered your family, I destroyed everyone around you and––'

Two strong hands grab Mustang by the collar, and Miles shakes him, then again, and then again. '_Stop this_!'

His eyes are flames, a fire, burning prouder than any other iris Roy has encountered. Roy is speechless, and in that single second he is taken back, to Hughes, when he grabbed him, shook him, was so _desperate_ to bring him to his senses.

'The reason you are here, Roy, is because you have not allowed yourself to go forwards! The reason you claim your strength is your weakness is because you have refused to _move on_! I have a family. I'm married. I'm married to the most powerful woman in the whole country. In the _world_, even. I have had a child with her. I would _not_ be capable of raising a family if I believed I was a monster. I was living a _lie_! You are living an _illusion_! Roy–– You fool! Don't you understand? You don't _have_ to be that monster you were all those years ago. You don't _have_ to be anything, but don't expect _anyone_ to offer you a hand if you refuse to help yourself. I do not help the pathetic human being who can only feel sorry for himself.'

Roy is silent, constantly watching those red orbs, how frightening they can be. But so glorious, too. The male can only shiver, but he doesn't hang his head in shame. Roy understands what Miles is saying, he understands where he is coming from. He understands that, compared with all the other victims in the war, he has no excuse.

Carefully, Miles releases his collar.

'If I can move on, so can you.'

'I don't know what to say.'

'I don't want you to say anything. You've said enough.'

Roy lowers his gaze, turns his head and catches a glimpse of the sun setting, and then gone. Vanished. Soon the air is cool and the darkness has taken over. Mustang clenches a fist, sighs. It is actually relieving to hear Miles scold him. Almost as if he has desired such punishment for a very long time. Miles has never been allowed to yell at him, to berate or advise him.

Now, as Saviour of Ishval, Miles has every right to teach the Hero.

'You and I, Colonel. We work well.'

Miles has returned to the seat he previously vacated, and he stopped at Roy's words. The anger has gone, usually his anger is quick and short. Something he taught himself. He has passed the stage of fury. Now, he can smile. A small smile, one of agreement and acknowledgement.

'Why do you think I wanted to stand by you whilst we did this together?'

'You'll find I'm the one standing by _you_.' Roy faces Miles again. The fear has gone. The anger has gone. The pity, for now, has gone. 'I can stand here and apologise countlessly for what I had done. I'd give my life to change the past. I know no such dream will ever come true.'

'With destruction comes creation,' Miles replies. 'You can be a hammer and ruin the world, but you can also be the same hammer, and fix the damage.'

Roy nods, but keeps his gaze to the ground. They fall in silence, and Miles returns to his seat. Even though the sun has disappeared, Ishval still holds a beauty about it. One neither men can decipher. Roy cocks a brow.

'I always felt I didn't deserve family. I didn't deserve to be loved.'

Miles flicks his gaze to him. Smirks. 'Who do you think you're talking to? I would have happily murdered Olivier painfully if I could. I, too, killed people, and I had thoughts of murdering children as well. If given the chance, I _would_ have murdered wives, husbands and children, Roy. So what's the difference between you and I?'

Only restraint had stopped Miles.

'There isn't any.' Their skin colour, accents, background–– they were one of the same.

'Live in the present, Roy. That is the bravest decision a man can ever take.' Miles grabs his folder of work, and flips through some of the sheets. 'Oh and by the way: you deserve to be loved.' He looks up at him. 'Anyone deserves to be loved. That's the only way a man can remain human. So embrace the opportunity, and tell her.'

Roy's smile vanishes at once. 'Tell who?'

'The lass who would do anything to make you happy. And we both know who that is.'

It would take years for Roy to completely recover, to accept himself a new man. It would take years for Roy to start afresh, to run forwards, and live. However, it can only take him a second to step forwards and make a change, whether it be big or small.

Anyone is capable of that tiny step forwards. Even those with the entire world weighing them down.

Being with that someone who makes him happy. A first, and wise choice to make. A challenge, but Roy has always been a lover for challenges.

* * *

**author's note**: Roy and Miles. Both opposites, but both desire the same goal. I'm surprised a fiction hasn't already been written about these two. They are key to the Restoration of Ishval, after all. Now a lot of what Miles says is mostly what I believe as well. I have my reasons, but shan't state them here. I disagree with the idea Roy and Riza don't deserve to have a family. By having a family, they are doing a favour for Ishval as well. They are finding love, finding peace, and that is the most amazing thing anyone can do.

Yes, Miles and Olivier _are_ together in this and have a baby. Of course.

Thank you for reading, and please review if you can.


End file.
